Little Red Fighting Robes
by brite
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a confused wolf, a small, green, crotchety grandmother, and one very no-nonsense little boy in red.


Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or Dark Rendezvous even a little bit.

Little Red Fighting Robes

Once upon a time, there was a young Jedi.

His name was Whie, but nobody called him that. This was because for his birthday, his Granda made him special battle robes red as blood. He loved them—they were so easy to move in—and wore them so often that most everyone in the Temple Woods knew him as Little Red Fighting Robes.

One morning, his mother, Maks Leem, gave him a basket. "Now listen carefully," the Gran said, her three eyebrows furrowed anxiously, "Granda is feeling poorly, so you are to take this basket through the woods to his cottage. Be careful not to drop it, because then the stew would spill, and Granda would not get a drop." Whie nodded, and turned to go.

Mother grabbed his arm. "One more thing. Go straight there. Don't stray off the path for anything."

"Yes, Mother," Whie answered seriously. "Goodbye," he said, and strode off into the forest.

The morning air was fresh and breezy. The sun fell dappled and golden on the cool grass. The birds sang, each more melodic than the last, and beside the path, beautiful spring wildflowers rustled beguilingly in the wind.

Whie ignored them all and kept walking.

Three hours later…

It was nearing midday, and Whie was tired. He had covered a goodly distance and so decided to allow a small rest. He sat down by the path under the shade of a large oak, basket at his side.

His stomach growled.

Whie frowned and disregarded the noise.

His stomach refused to give up that easily. It gurgled again, more insistently.

Whie glared down at the traitorous organ.

His eyes flitted to the basket to his left. Curious, but _not a __**bit**_ hungry, he lifted the dish from the basket. Cautiously, he raised the lid.

"Uhkgth!" Quickly, he slammed the lid back down. The dish was hastily returned to the basket. Little Red Fighting Robes leaned back against the trunk of the tree, taking deep breaths and trying not to puke. His mother had never explained why exactly Granda was small, wrinkly and green, but he now felt such an explanation would be unnecessary.

He had always known Granda's tastes ran to the bizarre, but that was just _unsanitary_.

Whie chivvied his thoughts in a more productive direction. Granda was Granda, he reminded himself firmly. They were family no matter what he ate. Even if it wriggled. Whie sank back, a little green.

He looked up through the oak's twining branches. The sun was lower in the sky than he had anticipated. Quickly, Little Red Fighting Robes got to his feet, and, after only a momentary pause, hefted the basket once more. It would not do to be late.

--

A goodly distance away, a young girl approached the door of a humble cottage.

She knocked. No one answered.

She knocked again. "Grand Master Yoda," the girl called, "It is I, Tallisibeth Edwandung-Esterhazy. I have travelled far, farther, and farthest still, through vast desert, high mountains and dark forest. I would learn from you that which you know of the Force and so become your apprentice, and eventually a Jedi knight. Please, noble hermit, let me in."

The girl waited. Still no answer. She began to get restless. Irritably, she paced in front of the rude hut, back and forth. She took a deep, fortifying breath and knocked again.

No answer. The girl resumed her pacing.

"This is a test, right? Look, Master Yoda, I'm Tal—well, people call me Scout, really—anyway, you really won't regret taking me in, I promise." She squared her shoulders, staring at the door head on.

The door was unmoved. That is to say, nobody opened it, or even gave a sign that they were listening. Scout's shoulders slumped. She gritted her teeth however and tried again.

"I'm a hard worker, and I learn fast. I don't know whether or not you've heard of me. It is true that I am," a pregnant pause, "not overly endowed with the Force, but I can make up for that. And," she continued, her voice speeding up, "if you have heard anything about the incident with the Duracrete Slug and the egg beater, it wasn't my fault, and please don't let it sway your decision."

Nothing. Scout stared at the door, silently fuming.

"What's it take, huh?" she yelled at it furiously. "I came all this way, asked nicely. Even if you have no intention of taking me on as your student, the least you could do would be to tell me to my face!" She stalked to the door until she stood with her nose brushing the wood. Her eyes narrowed.

"I know you're in there. In fact, I bet you're having the time of your life. Probably giggling your wizened head off. Well I've had it! I'm not just going to sit here and take this! I hope your eyes shrivel and your skin cracks and that you die alone, you miserable ball of swamp slime!" She paused in her tirade, panting slightly.

Silence.

"Oh, forget it," said Scout disgustedly, giving the door a kick. She turned to go.

The door creaked as it swung open. Scout spun around.

"I passed?" she asked, her tone uncertain.

Cautiously, she approached the doorway, watching for traps. She peeked around the door. Finding no one, she entered the humble cottage, stooping almost double to avoid hitting the low ceiling. Scout sighed.

"I didn't pass. He's not home," she said, feeling distinctly foolish. For the first time since she had entered the dwelling she took a good look around. "Although if this were my home I might go out pretty often too. When they said humble cottage they weren't kidding."

Dirt floor, tiny windows, barely any furniture. The only food to be found were the handfuls of nuts and berries tucked into various nooks and crannies, all of which smelled vile. Either this Yoda was incredibly frugal and a glutton for punishment, or he was not human.

Scout was hoping not human. She and frugal didn't mix well.

_Or_…the horrible thought snuck up…_maybe this is the wrong place_. After all, what self-respecting Jedi would live like this? And then her eye fell on something in the corner, unobtrusively propped up against the wall.

_Is it?_

Scout grasped the object. Squinting, she could make out a raised circle. With some hesitation, she pressed it.

_Ksss. _Green fire erupted from the upper end as the lightsaber blazed into life. Scout stared in awe. She had heard stories…no one had ever said they were so _pretty_. She made an experimental cut.

_Thrum. _Scout shivered happily. Soon, she was facing a whole horde of enemies: She slashed and dodged her way through the hut, carving her vengeance into her foes with terrible green fire. After a few minutes, they began to fall back, their leader bellowing at them to retreat. Scout came after him. She raised her arm for the killing blow—

"Granda?"

–and tripped, stumbling into the nearest wall. Panicking, she turned off the lightsaber and flung it away behind her.

Crash!

_Oh great._

She cast about in alarm, looking for another exit. She swore under her breath. The windows were too small, and there was only the one door. After that noise she couldn't pretend no one was home either.

"Granda?" said the voice again, a little more cautiously. "Granda, are you alright?" Scout cleared her throat. How did old men sound like?

"Haaurrunph! Yes." she said curtly, pitching her voice at a low growl.

"I have some food from Mother, Granda. May I come in?" the voice inquired politely.

"No!" Scout squeaked. Then, remembering her role, she backtracked. "Um—erhrum. No. Very—uh, sick. Go away."

"Granda," said the voice, still politely, but now with an edge of exasperation. "I have food which will make you feel better." Then, business-like, "I'm coming in."

Scout dove for her cloak. Hastily, she covered herself, and squeezed into a chair in the darkest corner of the hut. The owner of the voice entered. Behind it, the door swung not quite closed. Scout gazed at the sliver of light with longing.

Through the murky gloom of the cabin, saw the figure place something which looked like a basket on the tiny low table. It stilled, turning its head toward her. Then it approached her. Scout eyed it suspiciously.

As it came closer, it became apparent that it was a he, a human boy in his early teens with a serious expression. A few steps away from the chair he stopped, a small frown on his face.

"Granda," he said, slightly curiously, "what a small Force energy you have."

"Sick," Scout grunted, her eyes flickering towards the barely open door. The boy stepped forward.

"But Granda, what a large cloak you are wearing."

"I was cold," Scout growled irritably. Her muscles tensed. _Just a bit closer…_ The boy's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"What strange syntax you have Gran—" This train of thought was abruptly brought to a halt when Scout tackled him around the waist.

They hit the ground hard. Although he was taken by surprise, Whie's training took over. As his back slammed into the floor, he kicked up with his legs into the stomach of his attacker.

"Oomph!" went Scout. She rolled away, ripping his lightsaber from the holster on his hip and scrambling to her feet. Faster than she would have thought possible, the boy attacked her again, his movements fluid. She blocked the first punch and narrowly avoided the roundhouse kick. His third strike—the heel of his hand into her chin—sent her flying. Scout plowed into the small table. Dazed, she could only watch as the boy struck the lightsaber from her hand, sending it spinning across the dirt. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. The hood of her cloak slid down.

The boy stilled, his eyes widening. Scout took advantage of his immobility and kicked out at his legs. He fell.

They wrestled in the dust, all the beauty gone from their movements. He punched her in the gut. She elbowed him in the face. He pulled her hair, and in retaliation, she bit him hard on the hand. He was so shocked by this, he froze. Quickly, Scout straddled him, her hands sinking into a choke hold.

"Now listen, you," she said fiercely. "I don't need to hurt you. I just want to leave. Be a good boy and stay out of my way, alright?" She was irritated to see that the boy did not look in the least bit frightened, or even fazed.

Gazing up at her coolly, he said, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Scout was thrown backwards by an invisible force. She slammed into the wall, and then sank to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. The boy flipped himself onto his feet, and in an impossibly short amount of time, was standing in front of Scout, lightsaber retrieved, drawn, and pointed her chest.

"Yield."

Scout's jaw clenched as she evaluated her options. If he turned her in to the authorities the chances of Master Yoda taking her on would be almost nonexistent. If he took her back to her former master…Scout rubbed a livid bruise on her arm. Well, she wouldn't stay. Neither the Temple Forest nor the alleys of Coruscant were kind, but she'd manage, if she had to.

Fighting was not a good option either. The boy was obviously strong in the Force, and held the lightsaber like someone who knew how to use it. Her command of the Force was erratic at best, and although her hand-to-hand combat techniques were fairly good, as long as he had the saber she wouldn't be able to touch him.

She bowed her head. Under the cover of her hair, she glanced to her left. There was the door, still ajar. The hand behind her back felt around. Her collision with the wall had knocked objects off one of the shelves. One of the objects was very heavy.

"I yield."

Whie stepped back, but kept his lightsaber on.

"Get up," he ordered. Scout thought fast.

"I can't," she replied, her voice pained. She made a show of trying to stand. "I think I broke something," she said, gasping in imaginary anguish. The boy could not completely hide the twinge of concern that flashed through his eyes.

_Got you. _

Whie turned his saber off, holstering it at his side. His eyes cold once more, he leaned forward and caught hold of Scout's right arm to pull her up. With one hand Scout grabbed his arm, pulling him off balance. The other, holding the heavy object, she smashed into his head. He dropped like a stone.

A little shaken, Scout bent down, checking the boy's vitals. His pulse was strong and steady, and his head wasn't bleeding. He was going to have some headache when he woke up though.

She smiled weakly in relief, the adrenaline receding, and let go the object. She glanced down to the boy's hip, where the black handle of his lightsaber lay, totally undefended. She reached out.

Then she shook her head. It was bad enough knocking him out. Besides, it would be hard trying to explain to an officer why a scruffy, fourteen-year-old master-less girl would have a lightsaber.

The boy moaned slightly. Scout started, remembering where she was. It was time to go. She picked up her cloak and ran to the door, throwing it open.

"Why in such a hurry are you?"

--

_The unfortunate wolf found herself once more on the floor of the humble cottage, this time circled by an angry Grandmother._

"Call yourself what do you?" asked the toad-looking thing with a nudge of his stick. From her patch of floor, Scout glared at her captor and considered making a run for it. She dismissed the idea just as quickly. Even she could see the huge Force energy emanating from the crotchety swamp thing, rolling off of him in waves.

No, now it was definitely time to cooperate. But she didn't have to be nice about it.

"I'm Scout," she answered belligerently. "Who're you?" The toad-creature drew himself up to his full height.

"Yoda, I am," he stated portentously.

Scout snorted.

"Please._ You_, Master Yoda? Grand Master of the Toadstool Order, more like." she drawled, pointing insultingly. Yoda's crumpled ears quivered in indignation.

"Test me not, cheeky human!" And he promptly whacked the offending hand with his stick.

"Ow!" she yelped, snatching her hand back. "Okay, okay, I take it back! You're the Grand Master!"

Yoda sniffed.

"Better. Now, from where are you?" Prod.

"North of the woods." Glower.

"Why injured my apprentice did you?" This with a sharper jab.

"He got in my way." Scout raised her chin in empty defiance. Yoda studied her, and the anger in his face turned to something akin to pity. Then, a spark of interest lit his eye.

"_How_ injured my apprentice did you?" he asked, curiosity coloring his voice. Scout was not in the mood to entertain his snooping.

"I hit him in the head with something heavy," she replied flatly. The interest in the Grand Master's eye sharpened. He circled her once more, slowly. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, Scout glared back. Suddenly, Yoda halted, his eyes wide. He stepped forward.

"Your arms. Show them to me, you will," he commanded. Unwillingly, Scout rolled back her sleeves. Yoda stepped closer, reaching out as though to touch her right arm. Unthinkingly, Scout cringed from his touch. Old habits died hard.

"Hurt you, I will not," said Yoda quietly, his voice strangely kind. Although it probably was a trick, and he was at present her enemy, as she gazed into his ancient, murky eyes, Scout was oddly reassured. She stilled. Yoda reached out once more. His hands glided up and down her arms, a consistent two inches away from her skin. He grimaced slightly and pulled back.

"Your master, who was he?" His voice was controlled, but with an unnerving undercurrent. _Is he angry?_ Scout crossed her arms.

"What makes you think I have a master? I'm no Jedi," she said bitterly, the echo of her old master in her voice.

"Not yet," said Yoda mildly. "But," he said briskly, with another impatient poke with his stick, "had a master you did. Who?" Scout looked down.

"Master Karmysner Trobute," she muttered sullenly.

"Human was he?"

"Yes," she replied shortly. What was he getting at?

"A big man, he was?" Scout's brows snapped together. Her eyes grew shuttered.

"Yes." Yoda's gaze met her own. Scout was relieved to see no pity there. She braced for the inevitable next question, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Hmm," was all he said, his face bland.

"Hey—" started Scout.

"Unn." Scout glanced over to her right. The boy was coming to.

Not good.

The boy groaned again. His eyes flickered open. They locked on to Scout's with frightening alacrity.

"You—!" he cried, leaping to his feet. Suddenly, he swayed, pressing a hand to his head with a gasp of pain.

"Hurt much, does it?" inquired Yoda, his tone sugared. He stumped over to the boy and briskly poked him in the stomach. Doubled over, Whie stared at his master in mingled surprise and indignation. "Then, more careful should you be in your estimation of your opponent!" Yoda said tartly.

Scout saw the boy's mouth thin.

_Uh oh._ She must have seen that expression a thousand times. When her master wore it, it was time to make herself scarce. She waited for the boy's outburst. Instead of yelling however, he took a deep breath. Swallowing his anger, he bowed his head.

"I am sorry Master. I will not make that mistake in the future," he said formally.

Scout raised an eyebrow in surprise. Yoda grunted in satisfaction.

"Good that is." A wicked gleam entered his swamp-colored eyes. "Besides," he intoned piously, "always get along with your fellow apprentices you should."

"**What!?"**

_The wolf smiled. Little Red Fighting Robes frowned. Grandmother's ears wiggled smugly. He had saved the day, taken in a new apprentice, and there were eyeballs in his stew. _

_Despite their mutual differences, the three of them lived happily ever after._

"Oh, gross, you're actually eating that?!

"Gross it is not! Hearty, it is, full of—eeee! It's getting away!

"Oh, Granda."

"Come back! Not finished am I!"

"Ack! Get off, you slimy—"

"You. Stay still, please."

"My_ name_ is _Sco_—Eeep! Alright, that's _it!_"

"Stop thrashing around, I'm trying to h—Ow! Hey!"

"Kill it do not! Best when fresh it is!"

"Oh, shut up!"

_Well, sort of._

_--_

Author's note: Woo! Finally finished! I've been working on this one off and on for nearly two months now. (Which is kind of embarrassing.) In celebration, please, lovely readers, review!


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